


The Apple

by brokenmimir



Series: Swan Queen Week Winter 2016 [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Swan Queen Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 20:00:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5756353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenmimir/pseuds/brokenmimir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swan Queen Week Winter 2016, Prompt 2: Gluttony<br/>Emma Swan never got an actual apple from a student before, but when she does it's a revelation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Apple

Emma’s first taste was simple. Henry Mills had left an apple on her desk, and while it was unusually good looking, it was just an apple. While she ate it mostly because it was food, and therefore to be eaten, she also ate it because, in the three years she’d been teaching elementary school, it was the first time anyone had given her an actual apple.

Once she tasted it, however, she was shocked. It wasn’t simply an apple. It was the pinnacle of apples, the platonic ideal that all other apples merely aspired to. Only half remembered warnings about cyanide kept her from devouring the core seeds and all, and she wasn’t able to keep herself from licking her fingers clean of the juices and moaning in a very inappropriate way for a private elementary school.

After eating the apple Emma returned to the world of bear claws and microwave dinners, with the occasional drive thru burger to break up the monotony. It was like experiencing heaven, and then suddenly falling back to earth. Everything tasted like ashes in her mouth.

The next Monday, when Henry left another apple on her desk she had to bite her lip to try to hold back tears. He’d placed it their at the beginning of class, and it sat there, drawing her eyes like iron to loadstone, until finally she was able to dismiss her class and have some alone time with the luscious fruit.

It became a tradition after that, and the highlight of her week. She tried buying apples, but nothing the store carried tasted anything like the ones Henry provided. Even a quick trip to Whole Foods did nothing but destroy her wallet on a bag of incredibly overpriced organic apples that tasted no better than the kind she could buy from an affordable grocery store.

It wasn’t until the first class party of the year that Emma experienced a new revelation. The cookies Henry brought were simple. Basic. She’d eaten more chocolate chip cookies in her life than she was proud of, but she knew what to expect. Not that she didn’t plan to scarf as many down as she could get away with when no one was looking.

But the cookies weren’t like the others she’d had. They weren’t store bought, or made with some pre-made dough. Nor were they cooked too long, or mixed with too little attention. No, they were perfect in every way, and that elevated the simple flavor of the cookie into an experience that bordered on the orgasmic. While her students watched a movie she had to discretely turn her back to wipe away tears of joy as she ate half the platter.

After that Emma marked every opportunity to have a potluck event on her calendar, and sure enough Henry Mills delivered each and every time. It didn’t matter if he brought any of a vast array of desserts, or assortments of savory snacks, or even elaborate hot entrees that somehow didn’t congeal or lose their flavors and textures despite being reheated by Henry on a tiny hotplate.

Strangely, by the end of the first semester Emma still hadn’t had a chance to meat Henry’s mother, Regina Mills. She knew from conversations with him that he was an only child and that he only had his mother at home. She’d even subtly managed to draw out that she was the one that produced the fantastic foods that he brought, and even had her own apple tree that was the source of Emma’s weekly joy. Sometimes she’d find herself fantasizing about the mysterious Regina Mills who was always too busy for Parent Meetings, but never for making Henry food to bring to school. Even his daily lunch bag looked better than most restaurant meals, and seeing them filled Emma with a vague sense of shame that she, the teacher, still ate peanut butter and jelly on Wonder Bread.

It wasn’t until early March that Regina Mills chose to attend an event at the school. The first Saturday of Spring Break the school was holding its annual festival, with stalls of games, happy children, doting parents, and, most importantly, a bake sale.

Emma worked her way through the busy event as best she could, greeting the parents of the children politely, but unable to keep from scanning the crowd, looking for Henry and his mysterious mother. And, most importantly, the baked goods she would no doubt be selling.

“Miss Swan!” Henry called, waving at her.

She gave him a bright smile, and headed in his direction, before her eyes locked with the table beside him. It was a treasure hoard behind her wildest dreams. Cookies, brownies, tiny cakes, turnovers, sweet breads, and other items seeming gathered from the finest patisserie around the world covered a table. Emma had to take a deep breath to gather herself, her pulse pounding with excitement.

It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“Hello, Henry,” she said once she’d managed to swallow the drool that had wanted to leak out at the sight of the cornucopia.

“Mom, this is Miss Swan,” he said to the woman behind the counter. “She’s my favorite teacher.”

“I know, dear,” the woman answered. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Swan.”

The rich timbre of the voice was finally enough to pull Emma’s eyes away from the bonanza on the table, and when she did she found her eyes, for the second time in under a minute, absorbing the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

Regina Mills was still young, at most a few years older than Emma. Her hair was impeccably coiffed, and she was wearing a perfectly tailored power suit that no doubt cost more than Emma’s entire wardrobe. Possibly more than the apartment it resided in as well. From the moment Emma’s eyes locked with Regina’s coffee brown she was lost.

“Hi,” Emma managed after a long moment. “I’m Emma. Henry’s teacher.”

“I’m pleased to meet you at last, Miss Swan,” Regina said with a slow, teasing smirk. “Henry tells me you’re quite fond of my cooking.”

“Yes,” Emma said. “It’s, well, wow. Um, I mean, I didn’t know Henry noticed.”

Regina chuckled, and the sound almost made Emma fall to her knees. “Oh, yes. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for some time. Not only are you Henry’s favorite teacher, but the descriptions he gave of your expressions when eating my food sound... delightful.”

Emma blushed bright red. “I didn’t know anyone watched... um, right. Um. Henry’s a great kid. You’ve done a fantastic job with him.”

Regina’s face softened, and somehow she became even more beautiful when she smiled gently. “Thank you. He’s my pride and joy.”

They smiled at each other, each seemingly lost in each other's eyes, when Henry finally spoke up. “Mom, I’m gonna go play with my friends, okay?”

“Alright, Henry, be safe,” Regina said. “I love you.”

“Love you too, mom!” he called as he ran off.

“He’s a good kid,” Emma repeated.

“He is,” Regina agreed. “He really does love your class, and you certainly seem to be teaching important things, unlike that insipid Ms. Blanchard he liked so much last year. How many birdhouses can she really require to be built as class projects? Anyway, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

Emma was half offended at the condescending tone directed at Mary Margaret, but she really was obsessed with birds. Emma chose to focus on the second half of her statement instead. “Me, too. I mean, um, most of the other parents have met with me at some point.”

Regina sighed. “Yes, well. I always make time for Henry, but my work keeps me very busy. Still, we should correct our oversight in not meeting previously. Tell me, how would you like a glass of the best apple cider you’ve ever tasted?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I like cooking, and it was fun writing about food. My original plan involved more detail about the cooking, but the gluttony is in the consumption, and this where I ended up.


End file.
